


Stir Life and Light From Death

by rainstormdragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Developing Relationship, Emotional Intimacy, F/M, Firewhiskey (Harry Potter), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Male-Female Friendship, Men Crying, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainstormdragon/pseuds/rainstormdragon
Summary: Neville and Luna find comfort and warmth in each other's arms after the war. (Takes place shortly after book 8.)
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Stir Life and Light From Death

**Author's Note:**

> I do not headcanon Neville and Luna as marrying but I do think they were each other's first. They are both of age in the Wizarding world in this fic; Neville isn't long out of Hogwarts and it's the summer before Luna's seventh year.  
> **  
> CW: While Rowling was appropriately vague and optimistic for her young audience about what a manor full of Death Eaters would have done with a 16 year old female blood traitor, my take here is a bit more realistic. No explicit references, but Luna is still coping with trauma from that time just as Neville is still coping with the trauma of battle and torture and they are both still grieving the death of friends.  
> **

The old Fawley coach house was chilly and dark, but it was loads better than that horrible victory party and Luna slid closer to Neville where they sat on the stone floor, seeking his warmth. He was fiddling with his medal -- he didn’t like to wear it, but his grandmother had insisted, Luna was sure, just as her father had pushed her to wear something bright and pretty instead of charming her robes the dull gray of traditional Wizarding mourning as she had been doing for the past few months. But here in the dark, lit only by the tiny ball of light she’d cast so they wouldn’t trip over things, everything was gray, including the cheerful green silk robes that she hoped were getting ruined by the dirty flagstones. At least her bum could be in mourning, even if the rest of her couldn’t. 

Luna ran her hand over the stones -- idle habit now, after being in a stony prison cell for months. Her mind drifted back unbidden. Cold and damp and hunger and an old man’s watery cough and laughing voices and disgust and  _ pain _ \--

The strong hands pulling her roughly up to her feet didn’t belong to a Death Eater. Luna blinked, her Occlumency shields sliding back into place, shutting away the memories. Neville was standing in front of her, staring into her face, his brow creased with concern. 

“Luna. Luna.” She realized he’d been saying her name for a while now, and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m all right.”

He sighed heavily and pulled her close to him, holding her tightly. “No one expects you to be all right, Lu.” He was blessedly warm and solid in the cold darkness, and she rested her cheek against his heartbeat. Funny, how he sounded so steady from the outside, the even rhythm of his heartbeat thudding away when she knew that inside he was falling apart, just like she was. She wrapped her arms around him. 

“I wish we could run further away,” he breathed into her hair. “It’s stupid, I wanted Voldemort to be defeated, I wanted us to win, I just … never imagined what would come afterwards. And afterwards is pure shite.”

Luna nodded against his chest. The Wizarding World was saved, and they were ever so grateful and wanted to celebrate their heroes. No one had stopped to think whether those heroes wanted to be celebrated. It had been months; her scrapes and bruises were long gone and her tears long dried. Neville’s curse wounds had healed; the blood was washed from his hands and face and the screams from his mouth. But she still had darkness trapped in her heart and her bones, and so did he. 

She began to hum under her breath, an ancient scrap of melody, and she felt the muscles in his arms tense around her before his voice joined hers with the words.

_ No rest shall ease my wounded heart _

_ No respite from the war _

_ But hollow places in our halls _

_ Left by those gone before _

_ They faced their fate with wands held high _

_ And left us but their bones _

_ When those so young have lost their lives _

_ Why have we yet our own? _

_ Their voices drift as whispers low _

_ On heather, lake, and frost _

_ No banishment can silence them _

_ Reminding what we lost. _

Neville’s voice rasped into silence as Luna’s continued, wavering over a final, obscure verse she’d found in one of her father’s books.

_ I lay my sorrow in your hands _

_ I come to you bereft _

_ And let the warmth of kin and kith _

_ Stir life and light from death _

Neville rested his chin on top of her head. “You are a very cold kith,” he said softly, rubbing his hands over Luna’s bare arms. “What is a kith, anyway? You must be one, since you’re not kin.”

“Friends and countrymen. I am a cold kith,” Luna agreed. Neville reached into a pocket and pulled out a flask, offering it to her. 

“I thought I’d need this to get through the night, but I think you need it more, to keep you from freezing in that silk.” 

Luna’s family was not quite as well-off as Neville’s, but she recognized the smoothness of finely aged Scottish Firewhisky as it flowed over her tongue and closed her eyes. She had never liked the taste of alcohol, but this was the sort that had almost no sharpness to it, only a burning heat that tasted of woodsmoke. She offered him the next sip, and he took it. She watched his shoulders relax a fraction and wondered if he had been drinking to sleep too. She took the next drink, feeling a blessed lightness and warmth come over her as it kicked in. 

“That’s better,” she said, and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. A year ago, this would have made him blush, but now he just smiled a little sadly and smoothed her hair with a painfully gentle motion. He was one of only a few people who could touch her hair without her flinching away, now -- one of the Death Eaters had enjoyed pulling his fingers through the tangles.

They were so many years older than they had been last year. 

“Is it true that a tea of Niffler’s fancy will take away bad memories?” Luna asked him, remembering that she’d wanted to ask about it since she’d seen a note in the margins of an old grimoire.

Neville made a face. “I mean … you probably won’t be thinking about the bad memories while you’re puking, but otherwise no,” he answered. 

“That’s a shame,” Luna sighed, and took another small sip of Firewhisky. “There’s some growing in our garden.” She went to run her hand idly over the stones of the wall, and he caught it gently in his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. She shook her head. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to know -- he already knew. But she preferred to let it stay behind her Occlumency shields when she could, and try to be the girl she’d been before. 

“Do you? Want to talk?” she asked in return. 

He sighed. “I don’t know. I -- I killed people, Luna. I’ve killed people and everyone’s  _ okay _ with that, how … “ She held his hand tighter to keep it from shaking. “I always thought the Death Curse was an Unforgivable because you had to really want someone to die,” he whispered. “But I don’t think I understand anymore. How is that any different from casting a blasting curse at someone’s head or a crushing curse at their throat? I knew they would die when I did it. I intended them to. What’s the difference? The words you use for it?”

“We talked about that in the Ravenclaw Common Room once,” Luna said thoughtfully. “One of the older boys said that’s because it’s used for Dark sacrifices. You can channel the energies of a person’s death into a magical working with it. So Light wizards made a point of outlawing it so those rituals would go out of practice, even though it’s actually a more merciful death than a lot of the spells Light wizards will use.” Luna drew little patterns on the ground with the toe of her beaded slipper. 

Neville nodded. “I’d do it again, too,” he said, sounding sick. “To protect you and Ginny and the others. I’d do it. But the thought of it … I can’t forgive myself. People aren’t supposed to put the insides of other people’s bodies on the outside and then just walk away. Even if it was for the right reason.” In the dim light, she saw the shimmer of a tear track down his cheek, and she reached up, caught it on her finger, and touched it to her tongue.  _ Your sorrow is mine, _ the gesture said. His breath caught in his throat in a voiceless sob and suddenly he was kissing her, and he was crying, and so was she. 

Their mouths collided clumsily and their breaths hitched into each other’s mouths and Neville was pressing her tightly against him in a way that made heat flare in her belly. Hands brushed away tears and caressed faces and clung to shoulders. His mouth tasted of firewhisky and salt; his tongue was daring and tentative by turns. 

“Luna,” he whispered against her lips. “God. Luna.” His voice was pleading and wondering at the same time. He was like a Patronus, all light and heat and protection chasing away the darkness, and wasn’t that a silly, beautiful, whimsical thought for something that was all hormones and brain chemistry and shared trauma. 

If they had been normal, if this had been the adolescence they deserved, they would have gotten to do this in a deserted classroom or a supply cupboard, their voices mingling in innocent laughter, not sobs and frantic gasps. She could have whispered to Ginny in delighted scandal about the broken sound he’d made when she pressed her mouth to his throat. But even here, despite the pain they carried and the things they had seen and endured, there was a tender newness to this. 

He leaned into her every touch, trembled for her. For the first time in a long time, Luna felt powerful. When he sank to his knees before her, burying his face in her stomach, hands fisted in the silk of her robes, she stroked his hair, felt the dampness of his tears soak through to touch her skin. She pet his head until he stopped shaking and his hands softened, lightly caressing her waist and hip, and he mouthed at the softness of her stomach through the tearstained fabric, kissing her like a blessing. 

When she sank down to the ground and pressed her lips to his, he melted into the kiss before breaking away. 

“We don’t have to do anything more,” he whispered. “We can just be close like this. I don’t want you to feel like --”

Luna pressed a finger to his lips. “What if I want more?” she asked softly. “What if I want a memory I don’t have to bury?” She touched his face, felt the fading scars from battle. “We don’t have to do everything,” she said then, echoing him. “I know you haven’t -- “

“I want to,” he said quickly, fiercely. “If you do, I mean. I want to.” Merlin, he was lovely, looking earnestly into her eyes, lined in just the edge of the light. The softness had melted away from the rest of his body in the past year or so, leaving him lean and rangy, but there was still a roundness to his face that she liked. She nodded in silent assent, and he conjured a blanket to blunt the coldness of the stone beneath them. (So she wouldn’t feel the stones and have other memories intrude. He had thought of that.) He shuffled onto it, sat back on his heels, and pulled Luna into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and straddled him, and their eyes met as she lowered her body to brush against the bulge of the erection trapped in his trousers. He made a thoroughly undignified whine when she pressed against him and he felt the heat waiting between her legs. 

Neville’s hips bucked under her, rocking himself against her core. He pressed his mouth to her neck, leaving a path of wild kisses down the curve of her shoulder, pushing aside the flimsy ruffled sleeve of her robes. Luna threw back her head and revelled in his clean, honest need. He caressed her body with a touch that was no less reverent for its inexperience and she arched into his big, gentle hands. He made her tingly all over. 

She took one of his hands and slid it up her thigh under the hem of her robes, and the wonder and excitement in his eyes made her blink back sudden tears. He stroked her thigh, his face taut with arousal, and then lightly traced the edge of her knickers. He fumbled slightly with the silky fabric before pushing the gusset out of the way and dipping his fingers between her lower lips. 

She both heard and felt his wondering gasp. 

“You’re so soft,” he whispered. “So slippery. Oh God.”

Luna smiled -- his expression was almost luminous with discovery as he explored her with gentle caresses. But then it was replaced by a look of concentration and, oh … someone had given him advice or he’d read a book or  _ something _ . Luna’s breath caught as he found her clit and stroked, watching her reaction intently and varying his touch until she was mewling and rocking against his hand.

When she finally tensed, arched, and came in a hot, sweet rush, he crushed his lips to hers, swallowing her cries. His hesitance had disappeared; his tongue was hungry and demanding as he licked into her mouth. His hand curled almost possessively over her mound, the pressure of it delicious with the aftershocks still sparking through her. When they broke from the kiss, she pressed her cheek against his, feeling exquisitely safe with him. Her friend. A man now, as she was a woman, but still so familiar, even down to the scent of the potion he used to wash his hair. 

“Can we -- ?” he whispered, his fingers lingering at her entrance, and Luna nodded, her own hands carefully freeing him from his trousers. He grunted in relief as she released his erection and then gave a shuddering gasp as she stroked it lightly. That same feeling of power bloomed in her again. His eyes were caught in hers, so dilated that she could barely see the iris. He felt warm and velvety-smooth in her hand, and each beat of his heart or movement of her fingers made his length twitch. When she began to stroke him more firmly, he pushed her hand away in panic. 

“I won’t last if you --”

Luna bit her lip, wanting to smile but not wanting to hurt his feelings if he misunderstood her delight as amusement. He was just so sweet -- responsive and kind and gentle and determined to make her happy. She pressed a kiss to his lips instead, and he sighed into her mouth desperately and kissed her back. She let the arousal build, threw herself wholeheartedly into the kiss and the press of their bodies until the sweet ache of needing him overcame her.

Then she reached between them and guided him into her. 

Neville cried out and his hands tightened reflexively on her hips as he slid deep into her. When he bottomed out, they both remained unmoving for long moments. Memories pulled at her from behind her shields but she refused to acknowledge them, letting this moment consume all else. She could feel him shaking with helpless shudders and gasps as he struggled not to come. Her inner muscles fluttered and flexed and stretched around his length, adjusting to him, welcoming him. She cradled his face in her hands as he filled his lungs with one trembling breath of air, then the next, his lovely, familiar features drawn in new lines of need and pleasure. 

“My Neville,” she said softly, and he shut his eyes and nodded. 

“Yours,” he agreed, and his voice cracked on the word. Experimentally she shifted her hips, humming softly as she found a more comfortable angle. Luna felt both incredibly fragile and incredibly strong at the same time. His hands on her hips grounded her without limiting her movement. She began a slow, building rhythm that made delicious little tingles start in all her nerves. 

“Luna,” he whispered. “You feel so good. So hot, incredible. Luna, Luna.” Neville’s head fell back and his hips moved with hers as he chanted her name like a prayer. It was so different, so perfect, so right. Luna’s own sounds of pleasure mingled with his as she reached down and rubbed little circles over her clit. Taking this, taking this all for herself, riding him to a climax that startled her with its speed and strength and made tears spill down her cheeks. Neville’s hard-won control deserted him when she clenched hard and came on him, and with a couple hard, uneven thrusts, he followed her over the edge, his arms locking around her and pressing her body tightly to his so that she could feel every spasm, every heaving breath and pounding beat of his heart. 

She carded her fingers through his hair, making him sigh. Then she realized she was doing it with the hand she had brought herself to climax with, still wet with her fluids, and began to giggle guiltily into his shoulder. 

“What is it?” he whispered, sounding both dazed and concerned. 

“I was petting your hair with the wrong hand. Well, my right hand, actually. But the wrong hand to pet hair with, because it was just up my robes. Perhaps it will make your hair grow faster or something?”

“I’ll worry about it later,” he murmured, gasping softly at the sensation as she shifted and his softening length slipped out of her. “We should … cleaning spells, and a contraceptive spell. Something. You … you’re all right?”

“I think I am,” she said slowly, realizing that she actually might be, at least for a little while, for the first time in weeks. She kissed him softly, and he kissed back with his whole heart, making her melt a little. His hands were spread on her back and waist, warm and safe, holding her. She thought wistfully that if she could take him home with her, she might sleep through the night for once, protected. Not alone. 

Oh, how good that would be. But while they lived under their parents’ roofs, they were expected not to take lovers, at least not openly, overnight. It was only good manners. What a delicious word that was,  _ lover _ . Luna let her mouth shape it silently. She had taken a lover. 

He cast the cleaning spell, the touch of his magic warm and gentle and practiced -- of course it would be, she thought, amused. He was an eighteen year old boy and probably needed to use  _ that _ spell on himself pretty often. She cast the contraceptive spell herself with a little shudder, because she didn’t like it, and he held her a little tighter as if he suspected why. 

“We should have cast it first,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking of anything but how much I needed you.”

“It doesn’t actually make much difference,” Luna said, her face pressed against the warmth of his throat. “You’re only supposed to cast it before so you don’t forget after and--”

The door opened behind him and she forgot what she was saying and squeaked in alarm. Neville’s own sound of alarm was not much more dignified and he let go of Luna and spun around, scrambling to his feet, wand in his hand again, ready to fight. 

“Mr. Longbottom, Miss Lovegood! You should be ashamed of yourselves,” Professor Slughorn scolded them, taking in the state of their robes and hair, the blanket on the floor, and the fact that Neville’s trousers had fallen down to his ankles. “This is a solemn occasion to honor you. You could be making important career connections instead of committing indiscretions in a drafty coach house. Why, you’re lucky I was the first to find you. My old friend from the Ministry was going to meet me here in a few minutes to ask my advice on a personal matter and I am sure he would be quite shocked to see two of our nation’s heroes comporting themselves in such a manner.”

Luna tried to pull her knickers, which either she or Neville had torn at some point during their activities, back into place and figure out where her left slipper had gotten to under his disapproving eyes. Neville was struggling to pull up his trousers and tuck himself back into them with one hand while still keeping his wand drawn, and she could see the tension in the lines of his back still. 

“I hope you chop the wild carrot seeds  _ finely _ in your contraceptive potions, young lady,” Slughorn was saying to Luna, who just stared at him with an expressionless calm that she knew would rattle him if he kept looking at her. “And measure them carefully. You can’t be too cautious at your age.” He crossed his arms and cleared his throat. She finally found her slipper under a corner of the blanket and slid it back on. “You’d really better get back to the party. Someone will surely have noticed you were gone.”

“Right, yeah,” Neville said, looking uneasy. Luna did not like it when people made Neville look embarrassed, so she interrupted. 

“Professor, if you’re just giving your friend advice, why do you need to meet them out here in the coach house instead of just speaking to them in a quiet corner of the party or on a balcony? There’s plenty of little private places to talk unheard, unless you and your friend also wanted to be unseen.” She smiled at him, showing her dimples, and he choked slightly. 

“Confidentiality is highly important in business dealings,” he told her. 

“Do enjoy your  _ confidentiality, _ then, Professor Slughorn,” she said sweetly. “We certainly enjoyed ours.” This time it was Neville who choked as she took his hand and led him from the coach house.

“Luna, I cannot believe you!” he groaned at her as soon as they were out of earshot, clearly torn between the desire to laugh hysterically and hide in embarrassment. “Did you just imply that Professor Slughorn was meeting his friend in there to  _ shag _ ? Oh, ugh, do you actually think he  _ was? _ ”

“Probably not,” Luna said lightly. “He’s more likely part of the Rotfang conspiracy, or doing some illegal potion trading on the side. But his expression was terribly fun, wasn’t it?” She smiled at Neville, who just pulled her into his arms and laughed silently, holding her.

“You are amazing,” he said, his voice quiet and heartfelt.

“You know,” she replied thoughtfully, “I actually rather am. Do you have any firewhisky left? Let’s get drunker and go explore their library.”


End file.
